In the heart of a quiet neighborhood, Molly adjusted her black balaclava, the cool material a stark contrast to the warmth of her cheeks. She crouched beside Bill, who was meticulously checking the locks on a nearby gate. The moon cast a silvery glow over the scene, highlighting the chalk outline of a small, mischievous face on the ground. Molly whispered, "You sure about this, Bill? We don't want to get caught." Bill, his eyes gleaming like a cat about to pounce, replied, "Nah, we're good. The gate's old, and these locks are easy. We'll be in and out before anyone can blink." He slipped a small, gleaming tool from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. The mechanism clicked, the gate creaked open. Molly's eyes widened slightly, but she kept her cool, gripping her bag of tools tightly. Bill nodded, "We'll take the presents, the cake, and maybe a toy or two. Just don't eat the cake, Molly. I hear it's a new 'don't eat the cake' rule." Molly rolled her eyes, "I'm not an animal, Bill. I won't eat the cake." They slipped inside, the gate closing behind them with a soft thud. The house was dark, the only sound the distant hum of a television. A quick glance revealed the source - a happy family, oblivious to their approaching thieves. Molly whispered, "Let's do this." Bill grinned, "Let's."